The Cat's Eye Principle
by Vikki3
Summary: A life is changed by a small, brown package.


The Cat's Eye Principle

Author: Vikki

Disclaimer: The SMK characters and the Agency are copyrighted to Warner Brothers and Shoot the Moon Productions. I'm borrowing them for my own amusement, and I'm not profiting from doing so. This story and any new characters I have created are copyrighted to me; please don't distribute or reproduce my story without permission. 

Summary: A life is changed by a small, brown package

Rating: PG

Timeline: You'll have to figure it out!

Thanks to Amelia Peabody for inspiring me to try a different style. Anyone who enjoys this story will probably enjoy her writing. Thanks also to Pam and Fling for the beta.

Who would have thought a life could be changed, so completely and irrevocably, by a small brown package?

Before I glimpsed that package, my years on earth had been thoroughly, almost depressingly, unremarkable. I had come into the world and had grown to adulthood in the same agreeable, if uninspiring, setting. I had borne two sons and raised them as a single parent, having been callously abandoned when their father set off for new locales and new adventures. I had scraped and schemed to keep food in our mouths and a roof over our heads. I had repressed my own needs and desires in the hope that, one day, my children could look back on a youth as happy and carefree as my own. 

In short, my existence was both wearisome and tedious . . . but it did have the security of familiarity and routine. 

In hindsight, I suppose I was satisfied with the life I led; I had never known anything different. If I had, in my youth, dreamed of adventure, excitement and intrigue -- who could blame me? My own mother was not exactly . . . but I digress. My mother's vagaries are irrelevant to this story.

My new life began on a cool morning in October. I had risen early, and as I joined the throng of people crowding a busy walkway, I was glad for the warmth of my thick, tan coat. However, contrary to the expressed opinions of another, I didn't believe it was likely to rain. A few gray clouds did border the horizon, and there was certainly a stiff breeze, but the crisp autumn air didn't have the distinctive scent of impending precipitation. Still (and despite occasional accusations of stubbornness from those who have no right to criticize) I am not an argumentative being. I wisely kept my own council in the face of his plaintive mewling. To tell the absolute truth (which I try to do whenever I find it impossible to avoid a direct question), I was glad of the opportunity for exercise, fresh air and solitude. Living in close quarters with my extended family left few opportunities for privacy.

So, as I strolled along -- part of, but separate from, the teeming human mass -- I was not overly concerned with the weather. Instead, my mind was occupied with a more practical consideration. I was hungry. I hadn't eaten since the previous evening, and breakfast is the most important meal of the day, after all. 

I was casually scanning the faces in the crowd, and contemplating the best way to ease the rumbling of my stomach, when I saw him. 

He was a large man, but it wasn't only his impressive height that separated him from the others surrounding me. He was good-looking . . . for a man. I sensed hidden strength, as well as hidden kindness, in his lean form and regular features. There was something else, too, some indefinable quality that made him stand out as though our meeting had been predetermined by a capricious and whimsical fate. 

It was obvious, from his brisk movements, that he was in a hurry. He appeared to be far more alert and far more focused than the average, early morning traveler. His eyes, deep and hazel, darted left and right, forward and back, as though he was watching for something . . . something expected but . . . undesirable. And, tucked under one arm, was the package. I couldn't help noticing it as our paths intersected. 

It smelled so good!

I am well known for my ability to make instantaneous (some would say impulsive) decisions. I did not hesitate that day. I turned to follow the intriguing stranger and his even more intriguing package. 

It was relatively easy to keep pace with the tall man, despite the his long, rapid strides. However, caution reasserted itself as he made a furtive turn up a deserted alley. He hadn't yet noticed that I was tailing him, and everyone knows that discretion is the better part of valor. I crouched behind an overflowing trash barrel and watched as he crept down the dim stretch of litter-strewn pavement and slipped through an open doorway. 

It was a puzzling move. I happened to know that that particular building was unoccupied except by scrawny rodents. I couldn't imagine what business would take him there. Still, while the structure was dirty and crumbling, it wasn't truly unsafe. After only a moment's consideration, I continued my pursuit. 

I had no difficulty tracking him, despite the short delay. A delicious scent lingered in the passageway and the stairwell, and, my hearing being quite acute, I heard the murmur of whispered voices as soon as I reached the third floor landing. I pressed on in the direction of the muted sounds. 

I passed quickly down the hall, easily following my prey's faint footprints on the dirty floor. I had been inside this vacant office complex on several occasions. Most of the rooms were barren, containing nothing but dust, cobwebs, and moth-eaten scraps of broken furniture. The condition of the passageway was not much better. Frankly, I was beginning to wonder whether the quest was worth the effort it would take to clean my increasingly dirt-stained feet, when my search came to an abrupt end. 

The door to one room had been removed from its hinges and propped, tilted at an improbable angle, against the opposite wall. The space within had been swept reasonably clear of the filth and debris that marked most surfaces in the building, and a fascinating array of machinery had been installed. Not being mechanically inclined, I couldn't have named the contraptions or stated their functions, but they filled the room from floor to ceiling along two walls. Their bright, metallic surfaces were illuminated by dozens of blinking lights, and they emitted an odd cacophony of sounds, from gentle whirrs and beeps to a deep, scratchy grind. 

The tall man was standing by one of the room's arched windows, peering through the grease-streaked glass with a pair of binoculars. The only other occupant was a blonde woman. In her bright, silk dress and high-heeled shoes, she appeared totally out of place in that dingy locale, and she clearly realized her current surroundings were beneath her. She wore an air of disdain that could have graced the most fastidious of my own kind. When I first saw her, she was fully engrossed in the contemplation her brightly painted nails.

As I watched, the tall man stalked to the table, laying the binoculars down and reaching for the package, which rested, untouched, before the woman. Pulling from it two small, foil-wrapped parcels, he wordlessly extended one toward his companion. She glanced at him through icy blue eyes, and her nose twitched slightly. 

"What is that?" she asked. There was a decided sneer in her otherwise cultured tones.

"An egg sandwich." His voice was a rich, mellow baritone. It sounded more amused than offended. "Amanda sent them." 

The blue eyes rolled expressively. It wasn't a particularly nice expression, and she made no effort to reach for the offering. "I should have guessed. The happy homemaker strikes again."

"Can it," the tall man said, a rough edge of warning suffusing his words. "Do you want the sandwich or not?" 

"I'd rather starve." 

"Suit yourself." He stood for a moment, bouncing the two wrapped sandwiches lightly on his upturned palms. Then he dropped both packets onto the battered table. Meeting her derisive gaze, he gave a casual shrug. "You know I'm not a breakfast eater."

The polished nails tapped impatiently against the tabletop. "Why didn't Amanda come with you? I was only supposed to drop off the new tapes to Waters and Russell. I wouldn't have let them go home if I hadn't expected Amanda to be with you." 

"Billy snagged her just as we were walking out of the Q Bureau. He said she'd be here by eight thirty." His eyes narrowed speculatively as they passed over her, moving slowly from her leather footwear upward to her elegantly coifed head. "If you have somewhere else to go, you don't have to wait."

"Yes, I do have to wait. You didn't show up for last week's meeting, when we were trained on the new synthesizer. If the call came through and there was no one here to unscramble it, Billy would have my backside for breakfast."

He gave her a comical leer. "Billy prefers donuts to --."

I didn't learn any more about Billy's culinary preferences. With a quickness and agility I hadn't expected, Can-it scooped up one of the foil-wrapped sandwiches and hurled it forward. The tall man had excellent reflexes. He would have been struck in the head if he hadn't sidestepped and twisted. However, he was too large, and the trajectory was too short, for him to totally avoid the silvery missile. It hit his shoulder and bounced onto the floor with a squishy thud. 

I decided to intervene at this point. I had seen enough to assure myself that neither of these humans were likely to harm me -- or even to notice me if I made any effort at subterfuge. They weren't particularly vigilant. It was lucky for them that their livelihoods didn't depend on their powers of observation.

And the egg sandwich was probably getting quite cold. 

I took several tentative steps into the room, prepared to flee at the first sign of overt hostility. Neither Can-it nor the tall man so much as glanced in my direction. She had leapt to her feet and scooted behind her chair. Gripping the high, wooden back with both hands as though it were a shield, she held it between them as he advanced menacingly toward her. 

Ignoring their childish antics, I padded swiftly toward my goal. Placing one paw on the foil-wrapped packet, I gave it an experimental push. When it scraped against the tiled floor, the reaction astonished me. The tall man dropped to one knee and pivoted in my direction, his left hand snaking inside his open jacket. Can-it ducked down behind the chair, grabbing her handbag from the floor and fumbling with the clasp. Both froze for a moment when their eyes met mine. They stared at me, their expressions a mixture of relief and sheepish guilt, and then they straightened, their stances relaxing. The tall man shook his head and chuckled, the deep rumbling sound a decidedly pleasant change from his earlier, sarcastic tones.

Can-it shook her head. A few wisps of pale hair had loosened from her chignon, and they floated around her neck like a gossamer cloud. She gave a soft huff and resumed her abandoned seat, smoothing her mussed coiffure. I could tell, from the tilt of her head and the stiffness of her posture, that she was attempting (rather belatedly, in my opinion) to look dignified. 

The tall man, meanwhile, took several small steps in my direction, holding out his hand and whispering, "Here, kitty, kitty." For the life of me, I don't understand why humans are so enamored of that particular phrase. I had no intention of either approaching him or retreating. I sat down beside the foil packet and uttered a single "meow."

"You're not going to touch that mangy thing are you?" Can-it inquired, as the tall man reached me, his fingers still outstretched. His faint, spicy scent mingled pleasantly with the aroma of fried eggs. "It probably has fleas," she added disparagingly.

He ignored her. 

It was a perfectly reasonable thing to do. I did not then have, nor have I ever had, fleas. I always strive to keep my fur and skin as clean felinely possible. Further, I most certainly did not have mange -- which, as any intelligent being should know, is primarily a canine infection. No one could mistake me for a canine. 

The tall man knelt beside me and picked up the packet. He carefully unwrapped the sandwich and set it back down in front of me, all the time murmuring soft, reassuring words. I didn't need his reassurance, and I was perfectly capable of opening the foil myself, but I had decided to wait politely. After all, the proffered food was technically his breakfast, and if he was willing to share, the least I could do was put on a proper show of helplessness and appreciation.

The egg sandwich was delicious. After eating my fill, wiping my mouth and paws clean, and sending my mental compliments to the chef, I decided to further cultivate the tall man's acquaintance. Anyone with ready access to such delicacies must be worth the effort, I reasoned. 

I spent the next thirty minutes getting to know the tall man while Can-it pointedly ignored us. After rubbing against his legs and allowing him to scratch the sensitive area behind my ears (it felt quite good; his fingers had an almost magical dexterity), I followed him back to the window and stretched out on the wide sill while he gazed idly out the window.

We were in this comfortable position when we were joined by a third human. She was a tall, slender brunette. Her expression was cheerful, and her brown eyes sparkled with good humor. I liked her immediately.

"Good morning," she said as she stepped into the room, gazing inquisitively around her.

"It's about time," Can-it responded sourly, rising from her seat and smoothing the wrinkles from her dress. She took several steps toward the doorway and then hesitated, turning to look more kindly at the newcomer. "Do you want me to go through the procedures with you?"

The brunette's head shook vigorously, sending soft waves of hair swirling around her shoulders. "No, thanks, Francine. I can handle it."

"All right, then." It appeared as though Can-it wanted to say more. She glanced uncertainly between the other two humans before walking slowly away.

The remaining two stood about ten feet apart. Both clasped their hands behind their backs and rocked slightly on the balls of their feet. They appeared to be waiting for something. As the echo of Can-it's footsteps receded down the long passageway, the tall man moved casually to the door opening and peeked around the empty frame.

After a few moments, there was silence. He returned to the window and peered out, studying the street this time instead of the opposite building. "She's gone," he finally said, the nonchalance of his words at odds with the sudden, anticipatory gleam in his eyes.

He sauntered back across the room to his remaining companion, not halting until he was toe -to-toe with her. Placing both arms around her waist, he pulled her firmly against his chest, bending his head until his lips touched hers. 

They remained in that position for quite some time, their communication limited to indistinct muttering and throaty sighs. They only broke apart when she placed both palms against his chest and pushed him back a step. "Don't forget we're working, Big Fella," she said, her voice deep and raspy.

"I didn't get a proper good morning today, Beautiful." His words were accompanied by a pout she must have found irresistible, because she allowed a repeat of his embrace.

The remainder of the morning passed quite pleasantly. Beautiful spent a good deal of her time toying with the machinery, while Big Fella continued to sit by the window, taking frequent breaks to nuzzle Beautiful's neck and massage her shoulders. He gave similar attentions to me (although I didn't know him well enough to allow nuzzling), when Beautiful admonished him to return to his "look out."

Shortly before noon, the telephone rang. Beautiful spent the next few minutes adjusting knobs and levers . . . then they both left the room at a full run. 

I was certain they would return, as Beautiful had left her handbag. I waited. Sure enough, about half an hour later they strolled back into the room, somewhat dusty and disheveled but looking quite pleased with themselves. 

It was while they were gathering their belongings that Big Fella began to look at me rather oddly. Beautiful noticed his haunted expression, too.

"What's wrong?" she asked, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

"I don't feel right leaving her here," he replied, pointing in my direction. "She looks half starved."

Beautiful knelt beside me and ran a hand gently over my fur. "She's a little thin, but I don't think she's starving." 

"She's not wearing a collar."

"She's probably a stray." Beautiful stared at him for a long moment before she spoke again. "You're going to take her home, aren't you?"

There was no need for further discussion. Big Fella's Georgetown apartment was a comfortable, although somewhat disorganized place, and I felt right at home. If I had a few qualms about abandoning my family, I was able to suppress them without much difficulty. My mother and sons were grown adults, after all, with lives of their own. This might be my only chance for to experience a completely new lifestyle . . . and I sensed that Big Fella needed me. 

I was often alone, but when Big Fella came home I enjoyed his attention and affection. I wasn't even jealous when Beautiful visited us -- despite the fact that her presence invariably meant being summarily ejected from the bed to the sofa. Big Fella was never as happy as when Beautiful was with him -- and I had become quite fond of Big Fella and, therefore, interested in his happiness.

I occasionally wondered why Beautiful hadn't joined us on permanent basis, as much as they clearly enjoyed each other's companionship. At first, I thought she might not wish to share the apartment with me because of the sneezing fits that sometimes overtook her when I rubbed too close to her face. But eventually I learned, from listening to their conversations, that Big Fella was reluctant to allow "Management" to learn that he had acquired a pet. Apparently, pets were against the rules in his apartment building. Therefore, Beautiful was careful to hide in the bedroom on the rare occasions that someone came to the door while she was visiting.

Despite Big Fella's concerns about Management, I felt certain that Beautiful would eventually come to live with us. He had already given her a beautiful collar -- a thin gold chain hung with two sparkling ring shaped tags. Beautiful wore it whenever she visited, tucking it inside her clothing, and when she left, Big Fella kept it in one of the bureau drawers in the bedroom. I knew he wouldn't have given her such an exquisite collar if he hadn't intended to keep her.

I had been living with Big Fella for several weeks when an even bigger change occurred. Beautiful was visiting that weekend. They had apparently been quite exhausted, for they had retired to the bedroom at an early hour and hadn't reappeared until midmorning. After sipping coffee and reading the newspaper, they had just finished showering when the doorbell rang. 

Big Fella pulled on a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt and went to the door, while Beautiful remained in the bedroom, rubbing her damp hair with a towel.

I had been stretched across the bed while they showered (a process that took an exceptionally long time), but I strolled into the living room behind Big Fella, determined to be present should he need assistance. He wasn't particularly adept at taking care of himself. I was also perfectly willing to greet the new arrival. Unlike some of my kind, I am a social soul. Still, cautiousness is second nature to my superior race, and I make it a practice to fully survey and evaluate any situation before making my presence known.

Big Fella's companion was a dark-skinned gentleman with a somewhat rotund shape and severely thinning hair. This did not appear to be a social call, as both men were standing, speaking in serious tones. 

I was under one of the end tables and about to set foot in the direction of the two men, having concluded my initial surveillance, when I looked up and noticed the expression on Big Fella's face. Although he was wearing his now familiar cocky smile, his eyes were tense and wary, occasionally darting glances in the direction of the bedroom when the other man's attention was drawn away. Big Fella's fingers were fidgeting but finally slid into his trouser pockets when the older man seemed to focus on their edgy movements. 

I froze in my tracks as the implication of Big Fella's uncharacteristic nervousness became suddenly clear: this was Management!

I pulled myself backwards and settled onto my haunches to evaluate this new situation. It was obvious, now that I had recognized the identity of the visitor, that Big Fella was afraid of having Beautiful's presence detected, lest she be evicted from the apartment. 

My first impulse, of course, was to assist Big Fella in this endeavor. However, after studying Management covertly for several minutes, I became less certain. I have always considered myself a good judge of human character, and there was something about Management that I liked. Perhaps it was the way he moved, or perhaps it was the smile lurking in his brown eyes -- but I had the overwhelming conviction that this was a man to be trusted. 

I wondered whether Big Fella had misjudged him. Humans, I have observed, are often less than logical when protecting the objects of their affection, and Big Fella was more than affectionate toward Beautiful. He was enamored. In fact, besotted would not have been too strong a term. Therefore, it was not to be expected that he would be rational where her welfare was concerned. 

Management looked to be a kind and reasonable man. Not someone who would object to a pet as gentle and cheerful as Beautiful. In fact, I strongly suspected that, if Management knew how happy Beautiful made Big Fella, he would be pleased not angry. And there was another thing. I've heard that pets are often not allowed into human abodes because they are messy or cause damage. Nothing could have been further than the truth in this case! 

As fond as I was of Big Fella, his flaws were perfectly obvious, and one of those flaws concerned his housekeeping abilities. He generally tossed his clothes, keys and papers about haphazardly. The kitchen sink was often full of dirty dishes while stray bits of food and cutlery were frequently left lying about. However, I always knew when Big Fella was expecting Beautiful, because he would go on a cleaning binge. If Management had known of this positive influence, not only would be have allowed Beautiful to stay full time -- he probably would have insisted that all of his tenants have a pet just like her.

As I may have mentioned, I am a decisive individual. When I see a problem, and I detect a course of action to correct it, I move forward. I decided, then and there, to take matters into my own paws.

Swiftly and silently, I returned to the bedroom. The door had been pushed closed, but I was able to nudge it open without difficulty.

Beautiful was sitting on the edge of the bed, twisting a section of the cotton sheet around her fingers. She had dressed, but she hadn't finished drying her hair. It hung in damp, curling tendrils. Her face wore a forlorn expression; she obviously had misgivings about the deception being wrought here.

Jumping lightly onto her lap, I gave a soft purr and rubbed gently against her chest. She responded, as I knew she would, by absently stroking me. Heartened, I stretched upward, rubbing more firmly. 

She sneezed, loudly, and tried to push me away. I am not easily pushed when I do not choose to be. I rubbed again; she sneezed again, several times.

"Amanda." It was Big Fella's voice, emanating from the living room.

With a resigned look, she straightened her shoulders and walked from the room, her steps firm.

I was quite satisfied -- it is always better to face our fears. Things rarely turn out as badly as we anticipate. Then I noticed the collar, sitting abandoned on the bed in its small velvet box.

Management needed to know about the collar! Picking it up by one of the tags, I returned swiftly to the living room. Big Fella and Beautiful were standing side by side, facing Management, who seemed to be lecturing them about something. 

I carried Beautiful's collar into the room and dropped it carefully onto Management's shoe. He knelt down to pick it up, straightening slowly, his eyes moving from Big Fella to Beautiful and back again. One dark eyebrow was raised; his expression was unreadable. Then his mouth began to twitch, and after a moment, he laughed.

Big Fella and Beautiful looked at each other. The older man's jovial chuckles seemed to embarrass them; Beautiful's right hand reached for Big Fella's left one. Their fingers entwined. 

Management soon brought his mirth under control. He unclasped Beautiful's collar and slid the two sparkling rings from the chain. Then taking her left hand in his, he slipped the two rings onto her finger before giving it a gentle pat. Stepping forward, he placed both hands on her shoulders and kissed her cheek, before giving Big Fella's right hand a brief though hearty shake. "I need to see both of you in my office on Monday morning." His voice was still suffused with merriment. "Right now, I have some shopping to do. I need to find an anniversary present for Jeannie."

"Sir?" Beautiful's voice was soft and hesitant.

"Yes, Amanda."

She glanced at Big Fella and then at me. "I was just wondering . . . Didn't you mention that Jeannie's been talking about getting a pet, now that the girls are both away at college?"

"Yes." His gaze followed hers, and he looked at me appraisingly.

"Lee needs to find a home for his cat. He's been keeping her here for weeks, and someone is bound to notice eventually. I can't take her to my house; Jamie and I both have allergies."

Management continued to gaze at me, and a slow smile spread across his features. "This does seem to be a particularly intelligent animal."

So, that is how I came to live with Management (also affectionately known as Sugar) and JeannieBug. All because of a small, brown package on a cool October morning.

The End  



End file.
